A Case of You
by AChurningTwister
Summary: Love comes in many forms, bitter and yet so sweet. Four bookverse drabbles.
1. Salty

**I. Salty**

_"History waits to be written, and this family has a part in it."_

A fresh wave of paroxysms knifes through her and she bites down even harder on her lip, swollen though it is already. A diadem of sweat gleams on her brow, the stunted candle drips wax into a grimy saucer. She doesn't remember the pain being this potent the last time simply because pinlobble leaves are scarce in this hellhole and _I swear I'm going to kill Frex for this_. 

But the child. She smiles dreamily in the lull between convulsions, oblivious as Nanny sponges her forehead and mutters prayers under her breath. This child will be hale and whole, no more freaks or little lizard girls. She can love this one. 

As any Nest Hardings midwife worth her salt will tell her, the final contractions are always the worst. The world fades to black as blood fills her mouth and a new child is ejected yowling into the world. 

Armless.


	2. Sweet

**II. Sweet**

_He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her, little by little by little._

Even in this moment of bliss, he recalls a faint twinge of disappointment. He'd been expecting the exotic taste of wealth, something reminiscent of the saffron cream and orange rind biscuits from the Crage poetry soiree, but he has caught her off-guard this evening: lips left unvarnished and with only the most discreet sprinkling of rosewater about her person. Not that he's complaining whilst his hands dare to inch further and further to meet around her waist, and every tiny button of her dress is piercing his heart like an arrow through his patched coat. 

Yet in the weeks forthcoming, his dreams will still be wistfully infused with the heady scent of cinnamon and almond blossoms.


	3. Sour

**III. Sour**

_But the sting, to Glinda, was real._

Elphaba seemed never to feel the cold, much to her roommate's envy, shlomping through the iciest of Shiz winters in little more than her customary dark shifts. Her parade of scarves, gloves and hats were shields more against stares than against the elements, though of course she never ventured out on wet days without the company of a hefty umbrella. 

Even on those nights in room after fireless room, it was always Glinda who huddled closer, making the bedsprings sing and worming her toes slyly against an emerald calf. 

Now she yearns for one of Elphie's heavy scarves, or even a bony green arm wrapped uneasily around her. The carriage jolts over another pothole and a crack spiders across the window. She winces at the gust of frigid air and shudders instinctively to the left, recoiling when the dwarf gives a sleepy snort, the yet untouched food tumbling out of her lap. Only then, with a helpful growl of her stomach, does she recall not having eaten today or indeed the day before. 

The bread is hard enough to hammer nails with and the cheese reeks with surly repugnance. She wrenches off the thick rind of one of the oranges and takes a savage bite, resisting the urge to retch as the tart juices split her tongue like bile.


	4. Bitter

**IV. Bitter**

_"I am putty in your hands," he said, truthfully._

He adores the way her eyes can spark with sudden mirth and flash dangerously with unspoken rage, usually both within the confines of the same conversation. They are now familiar enough for him to admire the way her hair swings loose behind her as she tramps around the room, overturning the sparse furniture with almost effortless awkwardness. Her serrated words are suddenly musical, her sharp angles seem to melt beneath his diamonded hands. 

Love makes lovers fools, and none more so than Fiyero. 

As the moon slices obliquely through the skylight, he murmurs, "They say love is touching souls. If that's true, perhaps you've touched mine." 

"I don't have a soul," she retorts stingingly, voice cloaked with the weariness of one addressing an imbecile child. Whether intentionally or not, he cannot say, nor can he remember if he expected any other reaction. Years of city-earned suavity melt away and he is once more a timid, transfixed schoolboy. But he cannot begin to fathom the lonely depths of her eyes for she has already turned away, moonlight tracing the faint curves of her silhouette.


End file.
